I Will Always Return
by PiaculumDeFatum
Summary: SLASH. CSIxCSI:Miami Crossover. RyanxGreg. Sequel to Closer to Our Graves. Greg goes into rehab with hopes of winning Ryan back. Can he make it through or is he destined to fail again?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Hello again to everyone! How's everyone's summer been? Mine's been extremely busy, which is why this sequel is so late coming. Before we continue with the story, just a few notes for your consideration:_

_1. This is a songfic in the fact that at the beginning of each chapter, there's a few lines from a song. The song this time around is "I Will Always Return" by Bryan Adams._

_2. This is SLASH!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! If you don't like it, don't read it!_

_3. This is a Greg/Ryan fic. Surprisingly, Ryan won't appear in this til the third chapter...but he's mentioned by Greg A LOT. This fic is extremely Greg-centric, but I posted it in the Miami section because it follows the other CSI-CSI: Miami crossovers I've done._

_4. Rated mostly for language and mature subject matter. This fic is very angsty, just to let y'all know. Un-beta'd...all mistakes are mine._

_5. Please, please, please read and review! I love reading reviews and knowing what you people think! As always, please don't flame._

_6. This is a WIP, but this time, I hope to have new chapters up about once every week or two. We'll see!_

_7. __CSI: and CSI: Miami belong to Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. I own neither the characters nor the places nor yet the song. Only the plot. And the OCs. I can't think of any specific spoilers, but if any come up, I'll post them in the A/N before the chapter._

_And now, without further ado, I proudly present:_

**I Will Always Return**

Chapter 1_  
_

"_I hear the wind call my name  
The sound that leads me home again"_

It had happened so fast. One second, Greg was on his way to the airport to head to Vegas to get his stuff before he went to Miami and to rehab. Then, the next thing he knew, Grissom had called him and told him that there was a plane ticket to Miami under his name at the airport, that there would be someone waiting to pick him up at the airport in Miami, and that Grissom would send Greg's stuff to him when he got back to Vegas. So Greg, all hopes of having more time to prepare dashed, headed to the airport to go to Miami.

Greg's head was still wheeling as he made his way to his seat. Literally under 12 hours ago, he had made a decision to go to rehab, something he never in a million years would've imagined himself doing. There was a very large, very real part of himself that was still in denial that he was really an addict. After all, addicts did things like kill people and rob and steal and generally break the law. Everything that Greg had done was legal. His pescription pills were in his name, and were legally prescribed by a doctor. And the alcohol…granted, he drank too much, but alcohol was still legal.

Then his heart twisted as he remembered Ryan's words to him. "You're an addict, and addicts lie to keep their addictions hidden…once you get clean for good, then come find me. Until then, I can't be with you."

Hiding his face in his hands, Greg let his shoulder's slump. He was an addict, and he knew it. He couldn't find any way around it, and until he accepted it and moved on, he would never be able to help himself.

With this knowledge firmly implanted in his mind, he settled back, and for the rest of the trip, he consoled himself with his music, delving into some Death Cab, Shins and Arctic Monkeys, letting the music fill him. When he got to Miami International, he took a deep breath and went in search of whoever was going to be driving him to the rehab center. Then he saw her, a petite brunette wearing a khaki-colored polo shirt with the New Beginnings Rehabilitation Center logo on the front, holding a small sign reading "Greg Sanders".

Shouldering his duffel bag, Greg walked over to her and offered her his hand. "I'm Greg," he said, and she shook it with a smile.

"I'm Clarissa. I understand you're going to be staying with us for awhile." It wasn't a question. "Well, you're going to be in for top-notch care and counseling. We have an extremely high success rate; nearly 95 percent of our patients are able to become clean within a few months, and over 60 percent of those patients never return to rehab."

Greg felt his stomach sink slightly. "Only 60 percent?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as pessimistic as he felt.

She looked over at him. "Yes. Rehab is a complicated process, and for some, the temptation from being back on the street is too strong. However, there are many successful individuals, myself included. I went into the New Beginnings Center almost ten years ago. Since then, I've gotten my PhD, with a specialization in addictions, and I'm now a therapist at the center."

As they drove to the center, Greg mulled these statistics over in his head. It made sense, he supposed, that some wouldn't succeed. After all, how many times had Lindsay Lohan been in and out of rehab? But he had never considered that so many would fail the first time around. He knew that he couldn't fail, not if he wanted to win Ryan back. He needed to get this right the first time around, for once in his life.

When they arrived, he followed Clarissa into the main office, and his heart sank when he recognized the head of the Center, Dr. Albert Peterson. He had had to take a DNA sample from Dr. Peterson when an ex-patient of the Center had been murdered. As it turned out, no one from the Center had been involved, and the patient had been killed by some guy he used to deal to, before he got clean.

Dr. Peterson looked over at him, and recognition lit his face. "Mr. Sanders! We had a phone call from your boss saying that you would be coming. How have you been?"

"Fine," mumbled Greg, looking away, a dull flush creeping up his neck.

Looking at him carefully, Dr. Peterson said softly, "Why don't we step into my office and talk for a few moments before you get settled in?"

Greg followed him reluctantly into his spacious office, and took the offered seat across from him. Dr. Peterson sat at his desk and studied Greg over the top of his glasses. "I know you're probably very embarrassed about this," he said conversationally. "Almost all of the law enforcement officials we've had here have been."

"Do you get a lot of cops, then?" asked Greg curiously.

"Certainly," said Dr. Peterson, nodding. "It's an extremely high-stress job. Many turn to alcohol at the very least, but many more turn to whatever helps them. We had a cop in here once who told his task force that he would take a brick of cocaine they had found in a bust to evidence, but the coke never made it there. The officer said that he was attacked, and someone stole it, but when he came to work high as a kite, the truth came out." Pausing, Dr. Peterson added kindly, "Greg, you have nothing to be ashamed of. We all have weaknesses and flaws, and one of the best things that we can do is get help."

Greg sat up a little straighter. "And that's what I intend to do," he said. "Get help."

"Then you've come to the right place," said Dr. Peterson, smiling. "Your boss sent us all your paperwork, so if you want to follow me to your room, we'll get you settled in."

Greg followed him from the office, but he lingered in the doorway, looking at the front door. This was it, his last chance to get out. Instead, he remembered what Ryan had said to him. "Come find me. I'll be waiting for you; I promise."

He would not let Ryan down. Not again. With another deep breath, he turned and followed the doctor to his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:_**_ Sorry it's been a while! I fell and sprained my ankle, so I've been desperately trying to keep up with work and such. And sorry this chapter is a bit short. Other than that, usual disclaimer applies. Please read and review!_

  
Chapter 2

"_It sparks up a fire  
A flame that still burns  
To you I will always return"_

After two days, Greg had fully settled in and gotten used to procedures. He would have group therapy every morning, with individualized therapy every afternoon. Now, on his third day, he had his first group therapy session.

The group was holding their meeting outside, gathered on a group of lawn chairs in the shade of a giant palm tree. Greg joined them, claiming a lawn chair and carefully avoided looking at them. Finally, an average-looking man who introduced himself as Joe began the session.

Since Greg was new, the other members of the group introduced themselves, giving their names, occupations and addictions. Three of the group were schoolteachers, addicted, as Greg was, to prescription painkillers. There was a stay-at-home mother of three who was addicted to cocaine, and who had come to get help after her third child had been born already addicted to coke. A doctor, a garbage man, a college student (who played with her eyebrow ring all through her introduction), a business man, the list went on and on.

Finally, it was Greg's turn, and he said slowly, "My name is Greg. I moved here from Las Vegas awhile ago. I'm a Crime Scene Investigator with the Miami-Dade police officer. I'm…" He trailed off, then continued, his voice louder than before. "I am addicted to prescription painkillers and alcohol."

"Thank you, Greg," said Joe, smiling at him. "Now, perhaps you'd like to start our discussion today. Many new members want to try and find a trigger, a specific point in their lives where they first became addicted. Do you have any ideas what yours might be?"

Luckily, Greg had already thought about this. "Well, about four years ago, there was an explosion in the lab I was in, and I was badly burned across my face and back. That was when I first had prescription painkillers. Since then, I've used them occasionally when I'm really stressed out to help me relax. The biggest trigger, though, happened a few months ago, when I moved back to Las Vegas. I became extremely depressed, and began binge-drinking and pill-popping."

"Why did you become depressed?" asked one of the schoolteachers. "We learn here that saying we're depressed isn't an answer. Instead, we have to go deeper, to the cause of our depression. What do you think was your cause?"

This threw Greg off. He had not planned on telling about this aspect of his life, at least not yet, but with everyone looking at him expectantly, he said quietly, "Well, my boyfriend kicked me out after a misunderstanding because he thought I was cheating on him, and that's why I had to move back to Vegas."

Another group member spoke up. "But what made you turn to drugs and alcohol?"

"Because they made me feel better," he said simply. "When I was stoned or drunk, I wouldn't have to feel all the pain that I felt, and that to me was better than the alternative."

Joe sat forward, intent on the conversation. "But why did you feel so much pain? What kind of pain did you feel? Guilt? Anger? Sadness?"

Laughing wryly, Greg said softly, "How about all the above? I was mad at myself for being stupid enough to get caught in the situation I got caught in, and I was angry at Ryan for kicking me out and breaking my heart. I felt guilty because I knew that there were things I had done to make myself seem like I would cheat on Ryan, even though I never would. And of course I was sad. I was so lost without Ryan…I am so lost without Ryan. He's the love and the light and the center of my life. My entire life and world means absolutely nothing if he's not in it, and I think…no, I know that he feels the same about me. Which is part of why this hurts so much…knowing what I've done and how I've hurt the one and only person who has loved me so completely and fully."

There was silence around the circle, only broken by the sound of the mom sniffling. "That's really beautiful," she said quietly. "I really wish that someone loved me as much as you love Ryan."

"Yeah," agreed the college student, who stopped playing with her eyebrow ring to speak. "I mean, maybe I wouldn't be on drugs if all the good guys weren't gay."

That broke up the tension of the circle, and everyone laughed appreciatively. Joe turned back to Greg. "Normally, we would ask at this point who you're doing this for, why you're in rehab, but I think you already answered this. Are you in rehab for Ryan?"

Greg looked thoughtful. "Yes, I am," he answered honestly. "I'm in here because he told me that he will not be with me unless I am clean and sober. That is a huge reason why I'm here. However, I'm also here for my current boss and current coworkers as well as my former ones. All my friends…they don't deserve to deal with me when I'm this way. They shouldn't have to." Pausing, he sat up straighter, his eyes determined. "But most of all, I'm doing this for myself. I fucked my own life up so badly, and it doesn't matter what happened with Ryan or with my job or whatever. I did this to myself, and it's up to me to correct it and to get my life back on track. I deserve happiness, I know I do, and it's up to me to get that for myself."

There was silence around the circle again, but this time it was broken by the sound of applause. The entire circle was applauding him. "Thank you," said Joe. "Your story brings all of us courage, and we all wish you the best of luck in your recovery."

"Thank you," said Greg, and he was filled with an optimism he hadn't felt in a long time. "Thanks for your support. I know that I can do this, because I have to do this."

As he walked away from the group later, that same optimism welled in him. He did have to do this, for Ryan's sake, for Grissom's sake, for Horatio's sake…for his own sake, to reclaim his life. And he would do this. He could do this.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **I am so, so sorry that this has taken so long!! My life has never been more busy. Anywhere, here it is, the continuation. Please be aware that it may be awhile for me to get the next chapter up. And please remember to read and review!_

Chapter 3

"_I know the road is long  
But where you are is home  
Wherever you stay  
I'll find the way"_

Ryan stood pouring over a vic's personal effects. He grabbed the camera and took a picture of a dime bag full of small white pills before opening it and taking one out, looking at it closely under the microscope. It was labeled VICODIN ES.

Sighing deeply, Ryan took a picture of the pill before returning it to the bag. Vicodin…Greg's drug of choice. It sounded so strange still to use the word "drug" and "Greg" together in the same sentence. Greg, who had witnessed first-hand how drugs fucked up people's lives…how could he be a drug addict?

So many times the families of victims were left wondering why, with no answer in sight. Ryan found himself in these shoes. There was no answer for why Greg had chosen drugs over him. There never would be a concrete, comprehendible answer. That was one thing Ryan would have to learn and accept.

But he would never be able to accept Greg being on drugs, which was why he laid down the law. And he would not renege that law. As much as he loved Greg with every ounce of his being, he was truly doing this for Greg's good, not just for his own.

But he missed Greg. It wasn't the deep, echoing despair he had felt previously when he and Greg were apart. This was a much deeper and more emotional yearning, because Greg was so close, and so willing to come back to him, and all he had to do was take back his demand that Greg go to rehab and get clean. And surely, surely it would be worth it if he got to see Greg, got to hold him, got to melt in his chocolate eyes everyday.

Then reality set back in. It would be so much sweeter and more wonderful if he and Greg could be together without impediment, without the giant elephant in the room with them. It would be a beautiful day when they could be together, but that day would not, could not come til Greg was clean.

His mind made up yet again, Ryan turned back to his work, a certain resolution in his movements. The day would come when he and Greg could be together, and until then, he would be content to wait.

* * *

Greg paced nervously in front of his therapist's door. He was having his first one-on-one session that afternoon, and he was nervous as could be. Though the group session had gone surprisingly well that morning, there were no guarantees that this would be even remotely as successful. When the door finally opened, Greg was greeted by a short, balding man with a wide smile. "Mr. Sanders," he said, extending a hand. "Do you mind if I call you Greg?"

"Not at all," answered Greg, smiling as well. Something about this guy made Greg feel at ease. Maybe it was the bright colored swim trunks he was wearing like a pair of shorts, or maybe it was the equally bright Hawaiian shirt he had paired with them. "What would you like me to call you?"

The doctor smiled. "Dr. Theotokopolous is not only incredibly difficult to pronounce, it's also extremely formal. You can call me Theo."

Greg gave him a quizzical look. "Your parents named you Theo Theotokopolous?"

Laughing aloud, Theo said, "No, my first name is Francis, but who the hell goes by Francis? I decided to go by Theo 'cause it sounds cooler." He walked with Greg into the office.

Greg stopped in shock. His office was not at all what he had expected. The office was much more like a study, with bookshelves occupying almost every wall. Instead of a desk, there were two squishy armchairs settled next to a rustic, albeit fake fireplace. Theo took his flip-flops off and nestled into the cushions. Greg sat down opposite of him, still feeling slightly uncomfortable. "So you're a San Gabriel boy," said Theo, smiling at him. "I'm from El Monte."

"Oh!" said Greg in recognition, his eyes lighting up. "So we're both California boys. Where did you go to school at?"

Theo grinned. "I was a Berkley kid—" he started, but Greg cut him off by booing.

"C'mon, Stanford is the only place to be in Cali! A Berkley grad…shame on you!"

Holding up his hands placatingly, Theo explained, "Hey, I went to Stanford for my PhD, ok? That should at least count for something, right?"

A small smile flitted over Greg's face as he pretended to consider it. "Fine, I suppose that's alright," he allowed, settling more comfortably into his chair.

Theo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "I suppose we should get down to business," he said, sighing heavily as if this were as unpleasant to him as it was sure to be to Greg. "Let's start with your expectations. What do you want to get out of your stay here? I don't just mean getting clean, because of course you want that. I mean, are there any changes you want to make to your life while you're here?"

Greg looked thoughtful as he considered what Theo just said. "I guess one major change I want to make in my life is…well, see, I've always been the one to walk away. I never pursue a conflict, which I know can be a good thing, but it also means that I tend not to pursue a relationship, per say, or that I let things go too soon without fighting for the people I love."

"Like Ryan," supplied Theo. At Greg's quizzical look, he explained, "Your group counselor reports what developments have been made in group to me. It's very helpful because a lot of the time, things will come out with the encouragement of many people that would take weeks or months to come out in individualized therapy. I hope you don't mind."

Shaking his head, Greg said, "No, it makes sense. This way, I don't have to explain to you the entire situation involving Ryan."

Theo nodded. "Right. And then we can spend more of our time focusing on other, deeper issues. But that's not what today is for. Today is more for me to explain more about your treatment to you. I believe you understand group and individual therapy sessions."

"Yeah," agreed Greg, nodding. "They're pretty self-explanatory. I did have a question about the different, more holistic methods of treatment. Some of them sound pretty interesting."

Nodding, Theo leaned forward. "I'm going to be very honest with you, Greg. You're exceptionally gifted as a human being, and I don't just mean your intelligence. You came in here with a direction in mind of where you're going and why you're going there. A lot of the holistic methods we use help people who lack that same vision that you have, to help them understand the source of their problems." At Greg's crestfallen features, Theo quickly added, "However, because you do want to find a way to center yourself to avoid running away again, there may be a few treatment options. Was there one that you had in mind?"

Greg nodded excitedly. "I'm very interested in the surfing therapy idea. I love surfing, and I think that using something I love to help me with my problems is a very good idea."

A small smile crossed Theo's face, and he nodded. "I thought you might be interested in that one. Luckily for you, that might just be the perfect therapy for you. Connected with nature can help you look inside yourself for the force that will lend you strength in situations that make you want to run away." Pausing, he took a moment to write something down in a notebook. "Luckily, we should be able to start your first surfing session in the next few days, once the major withdrawal symptoms wear off. Speaking of," he said, pausing to look closely at Greg, "I need to warn you about the withdrawal symptoms you may feel."

Swallowing, Greg nodded, his features worried. "Are they going to be bad?" he asked in a small voice.

Theo took his time answering. "It truly depends on the individual and the amount of the substance that said individual has consumed over time. Since most recently you have been under the influence of alcohol, those symptoms are going to be more painful. Your Vicodin addiction, however, is just as bad if not worse than your alcoholism. You have been an addict of Vicodin, however unknowingly, for the past four years."

He paused again. "Vicodin withdrawal symptoms can include the following: restlessness, muscle or bone pain, insomnia, diarrhea, vomiting, cold flashes, goose bumps, involuntary leg movements, watery eyes, runny nose, loss of appetite, irritability, panic, nausea, chills and sweating. However, if what your boss, Mr., ah…" He consulted his notes. "Mr. Grissom, said is correct, you have not been on Vicodin for the past week. You may have noticed yourself going through many of these symptoms."

Greg smiled weakly. "Well, that explains a lot. I thought I was coming down with the flu or something. At least now I know what it is."

Nodding, Theo went on. "Yes, several of the symptoms of both Vicodin withdrawal and alcohol withdrawal can seem flu-like. However, there are other, more serious symptoms associated with alcohol withdrawal. Besides the several of the same ones as Vicodin, tremors, physical agitation, hallucinations and illusions or grand mal seizures are all possible. And, of course, there is always a risk of death." Pausing, he asked sincerely, "Are you sure you want to go through with this? There's no shame in backing out."

Greg snorted. "No shame? No shame my ass. There would be shame in my quitting after a few days. Not only would I be ashamed of myself, but there are so many people who would be ashamed of me as well." Leaning forward, Greg said intensely, "Dr. Theotokopolous, if you think that I'm not serious about this, you need to learn quickly that I am. This is the most serious undertaking of my life, and I cannot and will not fail."

Theo grinned widely. "That is the attitude that will get you through this." He stood and offered Greg his hand. "Greg, I wish you the best of luck, and I will see you later this week." As Greg shook his hand, he added, "Oh, and remember…you CAN do this. No matter what. You can."

As Greg walked away from the Theo's office, he found himself grinning ridiculously. He could do this. He really could.


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N:_**_ So get this...I'm updating, and it hasn't even been a week since my last update!! YAY! I wouldn't get too used to it, though. I want to take a moment to thank my reviewers thus far. I know I haven't replied to any of your reviews, and for that, I am sorry. Please know that I do read all of them, and I appreciate every single one of them. Now, on to this chapter. I've tried to balance Greg's issues with Ryan's, so...let me know how you like it. For reference, I borrowed some of the lyrics from "Carry on Wayward Son" by Kansas for this chapter. Also, the phrase "Persona Non Grata" means "Person not welcome," and is used to indicate that a person has been banned from a building. Usual disclaimer applies--I don't own them, and never will. Trust me, if I did, Ryan wouldn't be such a douche in the current season of CSI: Miami. Please and read and review. And now, without further ado..._

Chapter 4

_"I'll run like the river  
I'll follow the sun  
I'll fly like an eagle  
To where I belong"_

Greg woke up and instinctively hit his alarm to turn it off. Sitting up, he looked at his clock and groaned out loud. It was 4:30 AM, and though he was excited to be going to his first surfing session, 4:30 was way too early for any activity, even if it was his favorite one in the whole world.

He forced himself to get out of bed and pull some clothes on, glad that he didn't have to worry too much about what he wearing since he was just going to be changing into a wetsuit. He had met his instructor yesterday, and had been pleasantly surprised. Sean was a native of Hawaii, and when Greg had met him, his first impression was that of a typical surfer. As the talked, though, Greg discovered that Sean was an active member of the Bahá'í faith, and that he strongly believed in discovering God through a connection with nature and science, and that one could find God in the simplest acts, such as surfing.

While Greg was naturally leery of anything involving God (not just because of a lack of scientific proof, but also because he couldn't wrap his mind around an all-loving being who hated gay people), he found the theory of connecting with nature interesting, especially if it helped him stay grounded and find a way to not run away ever again. Besides, he was looking forward to the opportunity to get on a surfboard again.

Greg met up with Sean by the gate to the rehab center. "Hey, Sean," called Greg through a giant yawn, "dude, this early morning thing has to stop. Can't we go surfing just as easily in the afternoon?"

"We could," agreed Sean cheerfully, shaking Greg's hand, "but then we would miss the sunrise, and that's the whole reason why we're doing this."

The two walked in silence to the beach, which was only about a ten minute walk, and by the time the two got there and got their boards and wetsuits, the first rays of light were beginning to creep over the horizon, turning the sky into a beautiful cobalt blue. Greg paused before going into the ocean, a look of awe on his face. "I never realized how beautiful the sky is," he murmured.

A small smile crossed Sean's face, and he said quietly, "That's the point of this. To make you re-discover how beautiful life is, life without drugs and alcohol and hiding things. It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"

"It is," agreed Greg, smiling slightly. "It really is."

Sean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Smell the sea. Do you hear it calling to you?"

This time, a real smile graced Greg's face, and he said truthfully, "I've always heard it calling to me. To be honest, it's part of the reason why I moved to Miami: to be close to the ocean again. You have no idea what it was like, living in a desert, where the ocean was hundreds of miles away."

A thoughtful look crossed Sean's face, and he asked, "When you first moved to Miami, did you go surfing a lot?"

Greg shook his head regretfully. "No, I was busy most of the time, whether with my ob or with my personal life. I just didn't have the time."

"Greg, man, this is what you love!" said Sean, intensity lacing every word. "Maybe that was part of your problem. You came here to be near the ocean, but then you never went to the ocean and never went surfing, and you yourself told me yesterday what a huge part of you surfing is." Pausing, he shook his head in astonishment. "I just don't get it, man. You've heard the call of the ocean. How could you ignore it the entire time you were here? It's like forgetting who you are. How could you do that?"

Sean's words seemed to echo in Greg's mind. _"It's like forgetting who you are."_ Sean was right—Greg had forgotten who he was. On the journey he had taken from Vegas to Chicago, then back to Vegas, then to Miami, and then through his time in Miami, he had forgotten who he was. And that was part of the reason why he and Ryan were having problems: the Greg that Ryan had met and fallen in love with in Chicago had been lost along the way. And though Greg didn't necessarily know how to get him back, he knew that he had to. For Ryan's sake and for his, he had to find that part of him that he had lost, because without it, without him, he was lost.

It was with this shining, crystal-clear resolution that Greg faced the task before him. Surfing was a part of him, just one of many parts that he had lost and abandoned at some point in his life, but now was the time to make up for it. "Alright," said Sean, "I think we're ready to begin. Now, I want you to paddle out to where you feel comfortable, but I don't want you to ride a wave in until you feel truly at one with the ocean, ok?"

Greg nodded, setting his jaw determinedly and turning his eyes to the ocean, where the lightening sky cast red light on the waves, turning them into flames that danced in the early morning. "I'm ready for this," he murmured, more to himself than to Sean, and with that said, he headed into the ocean.

It felt so good to bobbing among the waves again. Even as he felt the salty water soaking him through the wetsuit, he knew that this was what it meant to be alive. To him, being here, being in the ocean, waiting for the perfect wave to ride, this is what it meant to truly live. He had shut this part of him out for so long, and for no reason. He had had the means and the opportunities even, but he for some reason had not taken them, and had, therefore, ignored the most basic part of himself.

He closed his eyes, and for no apparent reason, thought of the Kansas song, "Carry On Wayward Son." The words seemed to float through him and fill him.

"Carry on my wayward son  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry no more"

Despite what the lyrics said, Greg felt the tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. He loved Ryan, he loved Miami, he loved everything, but one thing he had forgotten was to love himself. He hated so much about what he become. He hated how he had turned to drugs and alcohol, one thing he had always said he would never do. He hated how he run out on the only person he had ever really loved. He had lived with all this self-hate, but just as the waves washed over, he felt that self-loathing washed away from him. He knew that he was truly becoming clean, not just from drugs and alcohol and all the stupid decisions he'd made, but from the blackness that had grown inside of him until it had consumed him to the point where not only could he not see Ryan's love for him, but he couldn't bring himself to love.

"Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man  
Though my mind could think I still was a madman  
I hear the voices when I'm dreaming  
I can hear them say  
Carry on my wayward son  
There'll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry no more"

Greg did stop crying, and he opened his eyes. He was alive, not just in the heart-still-beating way, but in the way where every breath that he took seemed to be a gift, and it was in this moment that he did feel at one with the waves crashing around him. Each wave that broke and crested seemed to match the beat of his heart, each swell that lifted him up and dropped him down matched his breathing.

"On a stormy sea of moving emotion  
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean  
I set a course for winds of fortune"

Greg looked behind him, and he saw the wave that he would ride. It was a medium sized swell, but it was perfect. As it approached, Greg felt his muscles tense and reveled in the way the sea seemed to hold its breath with him. Then he was up, riding his surfboard, riding the wave, both blissfully in control and having no control at all.

He rode it all the way in, not falling off, but not trying any tricks either. He let the wave carry him where it would. When he got the shore, Sean jogged over to meet him. "Nice one," said Sean, a smile on his face as he clapped Greg on the shoulder. "How do you feel, man?"

Greg turned towards the ocean, feeling the sun warm his face as the ocean played around his ankles, and a grin stretched across his face. Taking a deep breath, he answered simply, "Alive."

"Carry On  
You will always remember  
Carry on  
Nothing equals the splendor  
Now your life's no longer empty  
Surely heaven waits for you"

* * *

Ryan rubbed his eyes and sat up. He had fallen asleep during his break again. With a deep sigh, he rose from his seat and pulled his lab coat on again. He had some trace running through GCMS that would be done soon. 

As he headed towards the door of the break room, he noticed a new flyer stapled to the bulletin board. He pulled it off with trembling hands, his eyes absorbing the familiar face printed in grainy black and white,

It was Greg's old ID picture, and it was topped by the statement "Persona Non Grata." Ryan's eyes widened in shock as he read the rest of the piece of paper.

"Name: Gregory Hojem Sanders

Known Nicknames: Greg

Status: Former Employee

Notes: Known to fraternize with employees Lieutenant Horatio Caine, CSI Eric Delko, CSI Calleigh Duquesne, CSI Ryan Wolfe, and ME Alexx Woods. If see on the premises, please notify security immediately."

The last line on the flyer, however, was what really made Ryan's blood boil. In small precise print were the words: "By order of Rick Stetler, IAB."

"Stetler," growled Ryan, sorely tempted to crumple the paper up, or to rip it to shreds. What could Greg possibly have done to merit this? He didn't even work or live I Miami any more.

Ryan strode from the break room, mind resolved. He headed straight to the one person who would be able to fix this. When he found Horatio, he burst into the room when Horatio was in the middle of interrogating a suspect. "Mr. Wolfe," said Horatio, clearly surprised to see Ryan.

"Look at this, Horatio," said Ryan, his voice and hand shaking with anger as he thrust the flyer into Horatio's hand.

Horatio scanned the paper quickly then calmly folded it and tucked it into his pocket. "Mr. Wolfe, I will take care of this."

"But—" protested Ryan, but Horatio cut him off.

"Mr. Wolfe." Horatio's voice burned with the calm, constrained intensity that he used when reassuring victims that he would solve the crime that was done against them. "I will take care of this."

Ryan bowed his head slightly, nodding quickly. "Ok," he said softly, raising his head to meet Horatio's eyes. "Just make it right." Then he turned and left, with Horatio staring after him, twisting his sunglasses in his hand.

* * *

"Rick." Horatio's voice was soft as he confronted the man who was as much his nemesis as his ally. 

Stetler looked up from his desk. "Horatio," he said, a note of resignation in his voice. "I wish I could say that this was a surprise, but it isn't. I'll take it that you saw the memorandum?"

Horatio took his sunglasses off. "Yes, Rick, I did. Rick, why did you list one of my CSIs as unwelcome in this building?"

"One of your CSIs?" Stetler raised one eyebrow. "Greg Sanders is not one of your CSIs. Not anymore. I have his resignation on hand if you don't believe me."

Putting his hand on his hip, Horatio said calmly, "He is being reinstated by the county, as you well know."

A small, smug smile flitted across Stetler's face. "Ah, and that's where you may be mistaken. You see, Horatio, as much as you make vouch for Mr. Sanders, Miami-Dade county isn't normally willing to hire drug addicts."

Horatio's heart seemed to sink, though he managed to ask in what he hoped was his normal voice, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't pull that, Horatio," said Stetler with a sigh, suddenly sounding tired. He sat back down at his desk and pulled open a drawer, pulling out a file folder. He pushed it across the desk towards Horatio. "When the authorization came through to send a part of your paycheck to a rehab center, it seemed a little suspicious. You know as well as I do that using county money to help a criminal is against regulations. I assumed this was what you were doing, so I had someone look into it." Pausing, he added softly, "It wasn't difficult to get a subpoena for the recipient of the funds' name. I'm sorry, Horatio."

A cold fury radiated from Horatio, and his grip on his sunglasses tightened until his knuckles turned white. "No, Rick, I don't think you are sorry. Greg Sanders has run into a rough patch, but he is not a drug addict." Pausing to collect himself, Horatio allowed his shoulders to relax. "Either way, it's inconsequential. The county itself has paid for employees to get help for alcoholism, which is what Greg has, so I'm sure that when I bring this up to them, they will understand that I am using my paycheck to help a colleague get the help he needs."

Turning away, Horatio paused again. "Oh, and Rick?" He turned back, a small smile playing on his face this time. "Unfortunately, the lab and police station are public property, so you have no authorization to order someone from the premises without county permission, which you don't have. Here's the order to rescind the Persona Non Grata on Greg. It comes straight from the Commissioner's desk."

As Horatio slid the piece of paper onto Stetler's desk, he whispered, "Don't ever try something like this on a member of my team again, do you understand?"

"Is that a treat, Lieutenant?" asked Stetler, trying to regain composure.

Horatio just smiled as he put his sunglasses on. "No, Rick," he said, "it's a guarantee."


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N:_**_ Sorry about the delay as per always. I'm busy, busy, busy, and sick on top of it. Please read and review._

Chapter 5_  
_

_"I can't stand the distance_

_I can't dream alone_

_I can't wait to see you_

_Yes I'm on my way home" _

Greg lay on his bed, feeling, not for the first time in his life, terribly and utterly alone. Never had he truly noticed until Ryan how wonderful it had felt to wake up with the person you loved beside you; never had he felt the exhilaration of knowing that when he woke the next morning, he wouldn't be alone, and really, would never be alone again.

If only that were still true.

With a deep sigh, Greg sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He had not been sleeping well lately, kept awake at night by all the thoughts swirling through his head. Sure, his sessions had been going well lately, and he loved his surfing time, but he felt like they weren't really making progress. Instead, Theo had question after question for him, questions whose answers didn't further him any. Had his parents beat him as a child? Did he feel isolated from his father? His mother? Did he feel smothered by his mother? Did he feel isolated from both of his parents? Why hadn't Greg told either of his parents that he had transferred from the lab to fieldwork?

Greg had contemplated these questions. No. His parents hadn't beaten him as a child. Beatings were never a punishment in the Sanders household. He didn't really feel isolated from one or both of his parents, though he certainly wasn't smothered anymore. To be honest, he had been indifferent to the affections of his parents for most of his life. He had always preferred the times when his parents had gone out of town for a weekend or a week or a few weeks. Then he would get to stay with Papa Olaf, which was always an adventure. Papa Olaf had always been the one who understood Greg, who had realized that Greg's urge to mix baking soda and vinegar in the middle of the kitchen wasn't because Greg had wanted to make his parents mad. Olaf was the one to buy Greg his first chemistry set, the one who urged Greg's parents to send him to a school with other children as smart as he.

But when Greg was thirteen, his mom had another miscarriage, and the doctors told her that after this one, chances were that she would never have another child. Greg's mom had become unbearable. Unable to bear the thought of losing the only child she would ever have, she took over Greg's life, intervening on any activity that she deemed "dangerous." When she came to pick Greg up from Papa Olaf's one day, she found out that he had been climbing trees and had fallen down. Granted, he had only scraped a knee, but she lost it. She shouted and screamed at her father and finally pulled Greg to the car, shutting him inside before telling Papa Olaf that he would never see Greg again.

Of course, that wasn't true. Olaf wrote letters to Greg, who would respond in kind. Sometimes they'd meet up, and Greg would tell him everything. It was to Olaf that Greg had turned when he first liked a girl, and when that girl had dumped him for his best friend. Olaf was there for all of Greg's problems, trials and tribulations over the years, and when he died, Greg had felt lost for the first, though certainly not the last, time in his life.

So why hadn't Greg told his parents? There was the answer. They wouldn't understand. They had never understood their unruly son who wanted nothing more than to blow things up and play with test tubes and chemicals. True, they never missed a science fair, and they were there for every award he ever won. But they had never really understood. Greg had told Olaf, though. He had told Olaf about transferring to the field; he had told Olaf when he came out and moved to Miami. He had gone to Papa Olaf's grave and had sat in the grass and told him all his secrets, just like he used to.

After he had moved to Miami, Ryan had become that person who he had told everything to. Ryan had known all his secrets, all the ups and downs of Greg's life. And now, now that person was gone, too, and Greg had no one. Instead, all his secrets piled up inside of him until he thought he would explode. He had been able to block them out for awhile with drugs and alcohol, but now he didn't even have that refuge to turn to.

Sighing again, Greg got up and shuffled to his desk, turning the light on and sitting down. He opened a drawer and took out a spiral notebook and a pen, then opened the notebook and began to write.

_Dear Ryan,_

_How are you? I miss you. How's Calleigh, Delko, H, Alexx and everyone else? Give them my love, will you?_

_Things are going well here, I guess. I wish there was more I could do, and I wish this process didn't take so long. I wish I could be home with you now, tonight. I miss you more than I could ever describe to you in words. _

_I realized something today. Just now, really. I realized that if I make it through this and I still don't have you, then I probably will go back to the way I was before. The stuff I used to do…that got me through the day when I didn't have you to get me through the day. If I don't have you after all of this, I'll be so lost. Granted, I may eventually find some other person who can half-fill this hole in my heart and life, but they will never be to me what you are._

_You're my compass, Ryan, you guide my life in a way that no one else ever has. I know that I can tell you anything, and I only wish that I could've found it in myself to tell you about this, and about the problems I was having. Maybe if you knew how much I really, truly love you, you would have let me stay, and I would never be where I am right now. _

_There again, if I wasn't where I am right now, I might never have realized how much I truly do love you. So maybe this was meant to be, even if it was just to clue me in to what I lost the day I lost you._

_Either way, I'm just thinking about a lot right now. My life's a bit of a mess, but I'm getting it together, I promise._

_I love you, and I miss you, but I'll be home soon. I promise._

_Love always,_

_Greg_

He finished writing and just looked at the letter, letting the words he had just written fill him. Every word he had written was the truth. He could not bring himself to lie to Ryan ever again. He loved and missed him far too much.

Sighing, he folded the letter and grabbed an envelope from the box on his desk. He put the letter inside, licking it and sealing it. Smiling slightly, he whispered, "Sealed with a kiss," before addressing the letter to Ryan. Then he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and put the letter in there, setting it on top of all the other letters he had written Ryan, one every day he had been here. He looked down at them for a long moment before closing the drawer, turning off the light and returning to bed. As he closed his eyes, he let a small smile curve his lips. "I have not yet begun to fight," he whispered sleepily, then added, in a voice so quiet it could barely be heard, "Goodnight, Ryan."

* * *

Greg lounged on one of the lawn chairs outside in the shade, leaning over to help Marie, the college freshman with an eyebrow ring, with her chemistry homework. "I am never going to remember any of this," said Marie in a bored voice. "I don't see why we have to learn chemistry anyway. It's not like I'm gonna be a scientist or something when I grow up."

"I know," said Greg, "and polyatomic ions are especially killer. Still, you gotta just suck it up and do it. Let's start with this one." He pointed at one of the chemicals. "Ok. SO4-2. What one is that?"

Marie looked blank for a second, then said questioningly, "Is it sulfate?"

Greg grinned at her. "That's right!" He gave her a high five. "Alright, now that you know what sulfate is, it's totally easy to figure out what sulfite is. To make an "-ate" into an "-ite," all you have to do is subtract an oxygen. So to go from sulfate to sulfite, you'd go from SO4-2 to—"

"SO3-2!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Oh my God, I totally get it now!"

Still grinning, Greg said, "Good job!" Then he looked back at her paper. "Ok, one thing more. How do you go from sulfate to hydrogen sulfate?" When she shook her head, obviously confused, Greg explained, "Alright, well, to add hydrogen to an ion, it doesn't change the number of oxygen, right?" She nodded. "Ok, and it doesn't change the number of sulfur, right?" Another nod. "Ok, so other than adding in an H for hydrogen, what's the only thing left to change?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then she asked slowly, "The charge?"

"Exactly!" said Greg, smiling encouragingly. "So if we _add_ a hydrogen, do you think the charge will increase or decrease?"

"Increase?" she said tentatively, then, more confidently, "Increase."

Greg raised an eyebrow and asked, "By how much?"

She looked crestfallen. "I don't know."

"It's ok," said Greg, grinning again. "It increases the charge by one. This isn't just for sulfate, mind you. Works for carbonate, sulfite, and phosphate. So what is the answer, then, for hydrogen sulfate?"

She smiled as well and said confidently, "H SO4-1."

Greg grinned hugely and gave her another high five. "Great job!" he exclaimed. "Now, let's try—"

A gentle cough from Joe, the group therapy leader, cut him off. "Sorry to interrupt the study session," he said, smiling at them, "but we have some awards to hand out." He opened a manila folder and took out a small stack of certificates. "To start with, we have one of our members leaving us tomorrow." Smiling at Sophia, one of the schoolteachers, he extended the top certificate to her. "This is your certificate for being clean for 6 months. We wish you the best of luck, and I never want to see you again, understand?"

She laughed and took the certificate from him. "Thanks guys," she said, and there were tears in her eyes.

Greg applauded with the rest of the group, but a hollow feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach. What if it took him six more months before he got to leave? How could he stand that much time away from Ryan?

He remained silent for much of the rest of the awards, only looking up when he heard his name. "Congrats, Greg," said Joe, smiling widely. "It's been a month."

Taking the certificate with trembling hands, Greg looked down at the type that proudly declared "Gregory Hojem Sanders—Clean for One Month."

"Thank you," said Greg, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joe nodded, turning back to the group to dismiss them. Greg just sat, looking at his certificate. He had come so far, and yet he could so far to go still. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Joe was looking at him closely. "Greg, I want you to know, I've been discussing your progress with Theo."

Nodding, almost unthinkingly, Greg said quietly, "Yeah, he told me that you guys talked about what happened in group to each other. I know."

"Right," said Joe, as a smile began to spread over his face, "but what I wanted to tell you was that we both agree that you are making extraordinary progress. We think that you may be able to move to outpatient treatment in as little as a month."

Greg felt his heart stop. He stared up at Joe, unwilling to let himself believe it possible. "So you mean—" he croaked, his eyes involuntarily welling with tears. "You mean I could—"

"Yes Greg," said Joe, grinning now. "You could go home."

Grinning as well, Greg ducked his head, his heart racing, a thousand emotions playing across his face. When he looked up, his eyes were wet with tears. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" asked Joe, a small frown creasing his forehead.

Greg grinned through his tears. "For reminding me that I can win this fight. And for reminding me that I will."


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Here's the latest chapter! I'm sorry it's taken so long. There's no specific reason: the holidays, finals, etc. Anyway, here it is, and I hope y'all enjoy this. There's only two more chapters after this, but luckily, there is already a sequel in the works! In any case, stupid FFN won't let me not double-space the song lyrics, but c'est la vie. Please read and review!_

Chapter 6

"_And now I know it's true_

_My every road leads to you_

_And in the hour of darkness_

_Your light gets me through"_

Greg knocked on Theo's door and poked his head in. "Hey, are you ready for me?"

Theo looked up and smiled. "Sure, Greg, come on in and have a seat." He closed a file he had been reading and set it on the little table next to his armchair. "How have you been, Greg? How has surfing been going?"

Grinning, Greg plopped into his seat and ran a hand through his hair which was becoming naturally highlighted from the amount of sun he had been getting. "I'm great," he answered honestly. "Missing Ryan, as always, but I feel like I'm getting so much better, which is what's really important. And surfing is going awesome. Sean's talking about me maybe leading a beginner's surfing group therapy, which would be so cool." Leaning back in his chair, Greg let a big smile cross his face. "Things are going so well, and I just no that in no time at all, I'll be able to go back to Ryan, and be able to be with him."

Though Theo smiled as well during Greg's speech, his was much more reluctant. "That's really good, Greg, and I'm glad you feel like you're making progress. However, now it's time to take your therapy to the next level. As you know, even once you've graduated from our in-patient program, you will still need to complete our out-patient therapy. One of the parts of your individual out-patient therapy will involve going to anger and stress management group sessions. We want you start going to these now, while you're still living here, so that you can be in the habit of going to them by the time you get out."

A frown creased Greg's brow, but he nodded. "I understand," he said softly. "When do you want me to start?"

"The first meeting is…" Theo checked the file he had been reading. "Tonight. At the Good Shepherd Church in downtown Miami. One of the staff members will drive you over and come back and pick you up when it's over."

Theo set the folder down and looked at Greg seriously. "We're trusting you with this, Greg. I know that you were never one to score off the streets, but anyone could if they're desperate enough. If you do slip up, or feel like you're slipping up, I want you to call my cell phone, alright? Otherwise this could set you back several months. Do you understand?"

Nodding, Greg sat up straighter, his face serious. "I understand."

* * *

Ryan paced outside the interrogation room where H was grilling a suspect in the murder of a 13 –year-old boy. Sighing deeply, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. This case had been haunting, and had kept Ryan up for several nights now. The sooner they got someone behind bars, the better. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Deputy Biggs, an old nemesis of his, laughing with a buddy. "Hey Wolfe!" called Biggs. "Why don't you come over here?"

Reluctantly, Ryan walked over to the two men, hands in his pockets. "What do you want, Biggs?

Biggs jerked a shoulder in the direction of the cop standing next to him. "This is Officer Hanson, one of the new rookies. He's following me around today."

Ryan offered the officer his hand. "Ryan Wolfe, CSI. I remember when I was a rookie at the MDPD. Don't let anyone give you shit, alright?"

Officer Hanson smiled shyly at him, but Biggs cut in. "Hey, Wolfe, I was just telling Hanson here all about you."

"Were you, then?" asked Ryan dryly, but suspicion was beginning to rise in him.

Sneering at him, Biggs nodded. "Yeah, ya wanna know what I was telling him? I was telling him all about how some pansy from Vegas got you to bend over for him."

A muscle twitched in Ryan's jaw, but he met Biggs' gaze coolly. "My personal life is my business, Biggs, not yours or anyone else's." He transferred his gaze to Officer Hanson. "And if you have a problem with it, I don't really give a damn."

Officer Hanson started to shake his head, but Biggs cut in again. "Yeah, that's all well and good, but I was also telling him all about how your fag boyfriend went psycho and ended up locked up in rehab." A smile lit up his face and he whispered harshly, "Fucking queers."

That was the last straw. Ryan launched himself at Biggs, slamming his fist into his face, not caring about the rules or the law or anything. All he wanted was for that man to feel as much pain as possible.

He felt several arms pull at him at once, and he managed to land one last blow before he was tackled to the ground. Biggs was being helped up by two officers, and the look he gave Ryan was venomous. "Nice job, Wolfe. Now you can add an assault charge to your impressive resume."

He spat a glob of blood at Ryan, and it took the full restraint of the three officers holding Ryan to stop him from tackling Biggs again. Ryan heard a door open behind him, and officers turned him to face Horatio, who looked livid as well. "Mr. Wolfe, my office. Now."

The three officers restraining Ryan frog-marched him to Horatio's officer, where they left him, and one officer stationed at the door to guard him. Horatio entered a minute later, dismissing the guard with a nod of his head. Ryan crossed his arms and looked at Horatio. "If you want me to apologize," he snapped, "I'm not going to."

Horatio sighed deeply. "Why don't you sit down, to start with?"

Raising one eyebrow, Ryan sat, but made no effort to say anything. Horatio sat as well, and when he looked at Ryan, his brow was creased with worry. "Ryan—" he started, but the door burst open, interrupting him.

"Lieutenant, sir?" gasped Officer Hanson, clearly out of breath. "Sir, I was there, and I saw everything. Ryan—Officer Wolfe—was provoked, sir. I'll testify to it, if you want. Just—don't fire Officer Wolfe."

Horatio smiled at him. "Thank you, Officer Hanson, but that won't be necessary."

The young officer nodded, blushing. "Well, I…er, well, right." He turned and left as abruptly as he had come.

Turning back to Ryan, Horatio raised an eyebrow but said nothing about Officer Hanson. Instead, he mentioned casually, "Biggs isn't pressing charges."

Ryan rolled his eyes and began to stand. "Good, then can I get out of here?"

"Sit down." Horatio's tone lost its conversational edge. "No, you can't go. Provoked or not, you attacked him, and that's not just gonna go away. If you're lucky, this will stay under the radar. If not, you'll have Stetler and IAB breathing down your neck, and you could face suspension or even permanent removal from the MDPD. Is that really what you want?"

Looking down at the desk, Ryan shook his head, eyes full of tears. "No," he said quietly. Then he looked up at Horatio. "But, H, he was insulting Greg."

"Mr. Wolfe, I don't care if he insulted you, Greg, or any member of this team. You cannot attack an officer like that." Pausing, Horatio sighed again. "Look, I know this is hard for you, but this action will face repercussions." Horatio sat up straighter and avoided Ryan's gaze. "Starting now, you are suspended for one week. And starting tonight, you will be going to anger management sessions. Good Shepherd church is hosting one tonight. I'll have an officer escort you there."

Ryan bit his lip, but he didn't say anything, simply nodding. Horatio stood, pulling his sunglasses out and putting them on. "Go home, get some rest and think about this. This team is already down one CSI, and we can't afford to lose another."

* * *

Greg leaned against the wall outside the New Beginnings Center, waiting for his ride to pick him up. A knot of anticipation twisted in his stomach. This marked his first time out of this compound in over two months, and while he was excited for it, he was also a little scared. 

A blue car pulled up, and Greg was greeted by the friendly smile of a petite brunette who looked strangely familiar. "Clarissa," she said, smiling. "I picked you up from the airport."

"Right," said Greg, smiling as well. "I forgot. It's been so long, or at least it seems like it's been awhile."

He climbed into the car, and they drove towards the city, chatting comfortably. Once they got to the church, Clarissa parked across the street. "Alright, you know the routine, right? Be out here at 9 o'clock exactly, or I go in looking for you."

Greg rolled his eyes but nodded amicably. He noticed a cop car pulling up in front of the church. "Oh, look, I'll be with a fellow officer," he said sarcastically, putting his hand on door handle.

He paused as someone stepped out of the passenger seat of the cop car. He knew that person, probably better than anyone else. It was Ryan.

* * *

Horatio had asked Officer Hanson to escort Ryan to anger management, so Ryan had been forced to endure an exceedingly embarrassing and silent car ride. Hanson kept looking over at him and making as if to talk, but then he would change his mind and not say anything. 

Ryan didn't care. He was grateful for the silence. When they finally pulled up in front of the church, Ryan opened his door, then paused. "Thanks," he said reluctantly. "For driving me and for backing me up today."

"It's not a problem," said Officer Hanson, smiling warmly at him. "After all, guys like you and me have to stick together."

"You and me?" asked Ryan, confused, then he got it. "You mean you're…gay?"

Officer Hanson blushed and nodded. "Yup. I'm here, I'm queer, and no one will ever be used to it."

Ryan just shrugged. "Whatever, man, I'm cool with it. Don't get me wrong—it'll be hard for you. Just don't give up."

Nodding, Officer Hanson smiled at him again. Ryan smiled as well, then opened his door. "Well, thanks for the ride."

He stepped out of the car and turned towards the door when a voice stopped him. "Ryan, wait!"

All of a sudden, someone had turned him around and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Ryan broke away almost instantly, a look of shock on his face.

* * *

Greg's face echoed the shock on Ryan's, and he felt his heart stop as he watched the young cop kissing his boyfriend. "Oh my god," he whispered. Then, without thinking, without emotion, he yanked on the door handle and stepped out of the car. For just a moment he stood looking at Ryan and the officer, as if pondering a course of action. 

"Greg?" asked Clarissa, a note of worry in her voice.

He closed his eyes and shook his head just once, and then he did as he always had done before: he ran. His scuffed Converse high-tops pounded against the pavement as he sprinted down the sidewalk, trying to get as far away from Ryan as he could. There was a hollow ache in his chest, accentuated by the blood pounding in his ears and matched by the stream of tears pouring from his eyes. How could this happen? How could Ryan do this to him? How could God have let this happen to him, after all he had done, after all the work he had done and the sacrifices he had made? How, how, how?

Without knowing where he was, and certainly without any knowledge of where he was going, he turned into an alleyway, then stopped, leaning against a brick wall and panting heavily. He bent over, hanging his head and just listening to his heart pound. Then he stood upright and wiped the tears from his face.

A voice called to him from the end of the alley. "Hey man, you cool?"

Greg looked up. The person asking was a slightly shady-looking man of about twenty. He was wearing an oversized hooded sweatshirt and a baseball cap cocked to one side. "Yeah, I'm good," answered Greg.

"You sure, man?" asked the man, moving towards Greg, one hand in his pocket. "You sure that I can't do you for something?"

Then Greg understood, and he looked closer at the man who was obviously a drug dealer. "What have you got?"

The man smiled. "Anything and everything. What's your poison?"

"You got any Vicodin?"

"Narcs? Old school, man, but yeah, I got 'em. You won't believe how many rich ladies come around here for them, feeding me some story 'bout misplacing granny's pills. Yeah right." The man pulled a baggie from his pocket. "How many you want?"

Greg looked at the bag, the craving rising up in him so strong that he could barely contain it. His entire being cried out for the relief contained in those little pills. His mind yearned for the not-thinking, not-feeling, not-existing feeling that those wonderful pills would bring.

But his heart, for once, said no. That small part of him not completely crushed and numb by Ryan's betrayal told him that contained in those pills was not the relief he sought but the hell he had spent so long fighting. Though it may seem like he had lost Ryan, his heart seemed to say, if he took those pills, he would lose him forever.

"Well, man, what's it gonna be?" asked the man impatiently.

Greg looked up at him. "I can't," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry…I can't." Then he turned and headed back the way he came, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he went, and already dialing Theo's number.

* * *

Ryan pushed Officer Hanson away from him and stared at him in shock. "What the hell?" he managed after a moment. "Officer, I—" 

"Please, call me Paul," said Officer Hanson, blushing slightly. "And I just thought…well…I don't know…"

Running a hand through his hair, Ryan looked at him, slightly bewildered. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't. Greg is still my boyfriend, but he's more than that. He's the absolute love of my life, and I would never do anything to hurt him."

"Even after everything he did to you?" pressed Paul, looking at him critically. "Even after everything Biggs said he put you through?"

Ryan smiled slightly. "Even after all that. I love him, and he loves me, and even though it's never been simple or easy between us, we're making it work, and that's what's important." He stepped away from Paul and said quietly, "I really am sorry. But Greg and I are meant to be together, and nothing will stand in the way of that."

Paul nodded slowly. "Right. Um, when do you want me to come pick you up?"

Though Ryan kept smiling, he shook his head. "It's ok, I'll take a cab." He held his hand out to Paul to shake. "Keep going on the force, though, and I'm sure you'll find someone for you eventually."

"Yeah, in this state? Not likely," said Paul with a grimace, but then he smiled. "I'll see you around, Wolfe."

Ryan watched him get back in the car. "Yup," he said as the car pulled away. "See you around." Then he looked at his watch and turned, heading into the church. He had his own life to get back on track.

* * *

Theo himself had come and picked Greg up, driving him back to the compound. The ride was spent mostly in silence, which was good, because Greg needed the time to think. He was glad that he had been able to say no and had been able to stop himself, but the urge he had felt had been so strong it was almost scary. 

When they got back, Theo brought Greg to his office, inviting him to sit down. "Thank you for calling me, Greg," he said seriously. "Something very bad could have happened tonight."

Greg stood and walked over to the window, looking out at the moon reflecting off the ocean waves. "It very nearly did," he acknowledged softly.

Standing as well, Theo made his way over to him, looking at the young CSI with worry in his eyes. "What's wrong, Greg? You said no, didn't you? You were able to overcome your addiction."

"That's just it," said Greg, turning to face him. "Why is it that when everything goes wrong, I still turn to the old standby? Why hasn't this place worked?"

Theo gripped his shoulder. "Greg, you know as well as I that any addiction isn't something that just gets cured and goes away. The fact that you were able to say no to your addiction means that you're getting better, and that's a huge step in the right direction. You should be very, very proud of yourself."

Greg turned away again. "Funny, I don't feel that way."

"You will," said Theo positively. "Eventually, when what happened tonight seems like something positive. You'll remember this night, I promise, and not just what happened with Ryan." He paused. "Speaking of Ryan…" He trailed off.

Shrugging, Greg walked over to his seat and sat down. "What about Ryan? This doesn't change anything. I still love him, and I know that what I saw most likely isn't what it looked like."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "That's mature of you."

"It's the truth," said Greg, shrugging again. "I know in my heart that Ryan would never cheat on me, and I know that he would never date a cop, so what I saw must not have been what was really going. That's really all that matters."

Theo couldn't stop a smile from spreading over his. "You must love him a lot."

Greg met his eyes, a smile on his own face. "You have no idea. A few months ago, I would've seen that and I would've flown off the handle, accusing him of cheating on me and what have you. But I know that if our love can survive this, if I can survive this, then it has to be true and real. And nothing, nothing should stand in the way of it." Standing, he offered his hand to Theo. "Thanks for picking me up, but if you don't mind, I think I'm going to head to bed. It's been a long day."

And as Greg headed to his room, he knew in his heart that what he had said was true. Nothing would stand in between him and Ryan anymore. Nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N:__ This is end, folks. Of this fic, at least. See the bottom for more in regards to a sequel. The italicized text in the chapter denotes flashbacks to Why Can't I? with a little twist: they're all from Greg's POV this time around. The song, as so aptly stated, is "Coming Home" by Bryan Adams. Usual disclaimer applies. Enjoy, and please review!_

Chapter 7

"_You run like the river  
You shine like the sun  
You fly like the eagle  
Yeah you are the one  
I've seen every sunset  
And with all that I've learned  
Oh it's to you I will always  
__Always return_"

Greg leaned back in his lawn chair, closing his eyes as the sun washed over him, the gentle breeze off the sea ruffling his hair. Suddenly, something, or, more accurately, someone crashed into him, knocking the breath out of him. "Oof!" he exclaimed, bolting upright. He relaxed slightly when he realized who it was. "Geez, Marie, you scared the bejeezus out of me!"

"Sorry Greg," she giggled, looking anything but sorry. "I just wanted to show you something." Suddenly shy, she pulled something out of the folder in her hands and showed it to Greg.

He looked at it, confused, then his face lit up with excitement. "Oh my God, you aced your chem. final! That is totally sweet! Congrats!" He gave her a one-armed hug and a double high-five.

She grinned and ducked her head. "Hey, don't congratulate me. It's all because of you, and you totally know it. I would've been lost without your help."

"Yeah, that's true," he said, mock-serious. She shoved him, and his face broke into a grin. "I'm only kidding, and you know it! Seriously, though, congratulations. You totally deserved this after all the work you did."

Joe's voice cut off all side conversations. "Marie's not the only one who deserves congrats today, people. To start, we have an award here for Greg." Joe smiled as he handed a certificate to Greg, who looked surprised. "It's been 2 months, Greg. You've been sober for two months."

Applause and cheers came from around the circle, but Joe held up a hand for silence. "But that's not all. Theo and I have been talking, and we've decided that you're ready to begin out-patient therapy. You can go home tomorrow."

Greg's jaw dropped. "I can…I can go home?" he stammered.

"Yup," said Joe, smiling broadly as he patted Greg's shoulder. "We decided that you're no longer in immediate danger of relapse, as you've already proven, and we think that you'll benefit more now by getting back to work and being back with all your friends and coworkers."

Looking down at the certificate in his trembling hands, Greg felt his eyes well with tears. "Thank you," he whispered, his heart full of excitement and happiness. "Thank you."

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The next day, Greg knocked tentatively on Theo's office door. "Come on in," called Theo from inside, and Greg walked in. "Greg, good to see you. I expect that you're feeling quite excited for today."

Greg couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face. "Yeah," he answered truthfully. "Yeah, I am. I can't wait to get out of here and see everyone, especially Ryan."

"Have you called him to let him know that you're coming?" asked Theo, a shrewd look in his eyes.

Suddenly nervous, Greg fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt as he avoided Theo's eyes. "Um, not yet. I thought, you know, I thought I might surprise him or something."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "You thought you might surprise him?" he echoed. "Really? Or are you afraid to call him and let him know that you're coming?"

Letting out a sigh, Greg grinned nervously. "A little of both, actually," he admitted. "I want to see his face when he finds out that I'm finally out of here, but I also don't really know how to tell him that after all this time, I'm really coming home."

"Well," said Theo, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. There are merits to telling Ryan ahead of time, but there are also merits to surprising him. I will, however, advise you that telling him may give Ryan a little time to prepare himself, time that he very well may need."

Greg nodded slowly. "I guess I can give him a call once I get on the road," he said thoughtfully. "Though he's probably at the lab."

Theo rose and walked over to Greg, giving him a big hug. "I just want you to know how proud we are of you, Greg," he said. "You've made amazing progress, and I look forward to watching you continue to make progress. However, I don't ever want to see you back here on a long-term basis, do you understand?"

"Definitely," grinned Greg. "I don't want to see your ugly mug for more than two hours a week, and I thoroughly intend not to." Squaring his shoulders, he grinned even wider. "And now, I think, it's time for me to take my leave." He turned serious. "Thanks for everything, Dr. Theotokopolous."

Smiling slightly at the formal use of his last name, Theo clapped Greg on the shoulder. "Go on, get out of here," he said. "Get on home to Ryan."

Greg grinned even wider. "Your wish is my command."

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Greg leaned his head out of the window, closing his eyes contentedly, much like a dog enjoying the breeze. From the diver's seat of the car, Clarissa, Greg's chauffer from previous occasions, laughed at his antics. "You're gonna get bugs in your hair," she said, only half-joking, "Do you want to listen to any music?"

"Sure," said Greg, ducking back inside and subconsciously checking his hair for bugs.

Clarissa leaned over and turned the stereo on. "Any requests? Do you have a preference as far as station or type of music goes?"

For a moment, Greg considered requesting some Black Flag, but he thought better of it, though he couldn't keep a grin from crossing his face. "You know something? I'm in such a good mood right now that I honestly don't care what we listen to. You pick."

Shrugging, Clarissa scrolled through the stations until she found the one she was looking for. The announcer's voice filled the car as he said, "That was The Who with 'Pinball Wizard.' Up next, we have Bryan Adams singing 'Coming Home.' You're listening to 97.3 FM, the Coast."

The song that started playing wasn't Greg's normal cup of tea, but as he listened to the words, he couldn't help but feel memories being stirred up in him.

"All those nights I've spent alone,  
Uninspired, so tired and wasted."

Greg knew all about nights spent alone. He had spent far too many of them alone before he met Ryan. Sure, he had slept with the occasional girl, had even had a few girlfriends (Kristi the ho came to mind), but it had never seemed right; it had never felt complete.

And then he had met Ryan. Their meeting had to have been fate, and Greg didn't know if he had really known it in that moment, but it hadn't taken long after that fateful meeting for Greg to realize that he never wanted to spend another night without Ryan there beside him.

_Greg bobbed his head to the music in his headphones, not really paying attention to what was going on. He ran smack into a shorter man with light brown hair. A kinda cute shorter man with light brown hair. He stared for a moment, then noticed that the man's suitcase had opened. "Oh my God, I am so sorry!" Greg said, kneeling to help pick up the guy's clothes._

"_No, I'm sorry, it was my fault," babbled the other man nervously as he bent to throw things into his suitcase, a faint blush obvious in cheeks. "I wasn't looking where I was going, and—"_

_Greg had long ago tuned him out, but he noticed at that moment a hideous-looking orange-ish sweater. Trying to keep the laughter out of his voice, he asked casually, "Dude, what is __this__?"_

_The man looked up, his face turning an even more obvious shade of crimson. "Er…that's the sweater my great-aunt Edna knitted for me," he muttered, looking down to avoid looking at Greg,_

_Hiding a smile, Greg looked down at the sweater in his hands. Well, it wasn't __that__ bad, he supposed, and he was rather cold, so he took pity on the man. "Dude, it's awesome. Do you mind if I borrow it? It's freaking cold in here." He shivered for effect._

_The other man looked up, relief evident in his face, and he replied causally, "Uh, sure, but only if you promise to burn it once you're done with it." He even managed to grin, and that grin made Greg grin as well._

_He stuck his hand out, deciding it was time they were properly introduced. "Greg Sanders," he said, leaving out what he wanted to say, which was somewhere along the lines of, "Can I have your phone number and address, please? Because I don't think I've ever felt like this before."_

"_Ryan Wolfe," replied the other man, shaking his hand before bending over again to pick up his now-closed suitcase. "And you really don't have to wear that sweater. I have other ones that you can borrow."_

_Raising one eyebrow, Greg asked innocently while striking a pose, "No, man, it's cool. I like this one. It's my color, don't you think? And besides, God knows you may need those other sweaters in the middle of September."_

Their banter had continued like that, and they had fallen in love. And somewhere along the way, Greg had lost sight of that.

"There's lots of times I'd have telephoned,  
I couldn't find the words to say,  
I'm coming home,  
Lord I'm coming home  
I'll make it short,  
I'll make it sweet  
Make it up to you and me.  
I'm not the same guy I used to be"

He wasn't the same. He had changed so much once Ryan had entered his life. Even his coworkers in Vegas had noticed. Heck, even the people at the seminar that Greg and Ryan had attended in Chicago had noticed it.

_Ryan rolled his eyes at Greg and stretched his arms into the air, yawning widely. The leader of the seminar missed his yawn and mistook his stretch for enthusiasm. "Excellent!" she announced, zeroing on in the two of them. "We have our first volunteer!"_

_Greg grinned as Ryan visibly paled, his eyes wide in worry. "Greg, what did I just volunteer for?" he hissed._

"_You get to pick a partner and do one of those trust falls," Greg whispered innocently back, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face or the twinkle in his eyes. "And since you already said I was your partner, I promise I won't drop you."_

_For a second, real fear glinted in Ryan's eyes as he muttered, "Oh Jesus." But it was too late, and Greg led Ryan to the front of the room. Greg took a handkerchief from the leader and winked at Ryan before tying it over Ryan's eyes. Instantly, Ryan's entire frame stiffened in fear and panic. "Greg?" he hissed, bordering on hysterical. "Greg!"_

_Greg touched him gently on his shoulders, trying to alleviate some of his tension. "Shh, it's ok," he whispered soothingly into Ryan's here. "I'm right here, ok? I'm right here and I'm not moving. Just relax, ok? Just relax."_

_He saw Ryan's back and shoulder muscles begin to relax slightly, and he kept his soothing monologue going as Ryan dropped backwards, with Greg right there to catch him._

"_Excellent!" exclaimed the leader. Greg ignored her, instead tenderly removing Ryan's blindfold and checking to make sure he was ok. "I see you two have a real bond. Are you friends?"_

_Greg's brain immediately leapt to the several kisses they had shared only a few hours earlier, and he coughed in order to disguise his rising laughter. Ryan glared at him before clearing his throat and responding in his best professional manner, "I guess you could say that." _

"_Good!" responded the over-zealous leader lady, beaming at them. "It's so wonderful to see two strangers become friends here."_

"_Yeah," muttered Greg in Ryan's ear, his mind still working on the images of kissing Ryan, something that he desperately wanted to do at that moment. He settled for slipping his hand down to rest comfortably on Ryan's rear end, where, while no one could see it, Ryan could definitely feel it. "It's wonderful to become friends."_

_Ryan, blushing like always, elbowed Greg sharply in the stomach, causing Greg to let out an "Oof!" of air while Ryan turned back to the leader with a nervous smile before responding tightly, "Oh yeah, making friends is a blast."_

Greg chuckled slightly to himself at that memory, back when both he and Ryan had seemed so carefree and newly in love.

"What can I do to make you believe,  
I'm coming home,  
Oh I'm coming home.  
I'm coming home,  
Yeah I'm coming home.  
Only seems like yesterday,  
You and I were sayin' goodbye,  
Now I'm just a few miles away  
Gonna see you tonight"

Clarissa's voice interrupted Greg's reverie. "Hey, are you ok?" she asked loudly, reaching for the stereo to turn the music down.

Greg reached out and stopped her. "I'm fine," he said, smiling at her. "But leave the music up," he added, turning back to the window, his smile still lingering. "I'm beginning to like this song."

"I've been alone and I live the pain,  
Reach for you in desperation.  
I was wrong, I'll take the blame,  
I need you back now I just can't wait"

Of course, it hadn't lasted. Somewhere along the line, in the midst of all of his now-pointless and stupid fights with Ryan, he had lost sight of the man that he had fallen in love with, and had therefore lost sight of really just how much he loved Ryan.

He knew now that if he had been able to see it still, if he had been able to see that man that he had fallen in love with, if he had been able to reconcile that image somehow with the Ryan that occasionally got too jealous or said the wrong thing in the heat of the moment, he would never have been able to walk away the way that he had. If he had been able to see that, he would never have turned to drugs or alcohol.

But the truth was, he had lost that image. He had not been able to see Ryan that way. And what he needed to do now, what they needed to do now if their relationship was ever going to work, was take a step back and look at the two men that had shared their first kiss on the Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier, the two men who had fallen so hopelessly and completely in love with each other in the course of a little over a week that one had flown across the country just so that they could be together. They had to look at those men, which was the easy part; then they also had to look at the men they had become. They had to look at the men that fought too much over stupid things like jealousy and opinions on cases. They had to look at the guys that had gotten physical. They had to look at the one that was too willing to walk away, and the one that was too willing to let him. Greg had been looking at himself a lot lately, and he had discovered where he had lost himself. Now all he needed was to show that to Ryan, to prove that it didn't have to be one or the other. The two could still have stupid, petty fights, but they could also look at each other and see the love that the two of them shared, with nothing getting in the way of that.

"I'm coming home  
Yeah I'm coming home.  
Coming home,  
I'm just coming, coming,  
Waiting it out.  
I'm just coming home"

The car ride only lasted twenty minutes longer or so, but Greg was silent the entire time, just lost in his thoughts. He shook his head as if to clear it when the car pulled to a stop in front of the all-too familiar apartment building. Clarissa looked over at him sympathetically. "Look," she said, "I know this is going to be hard, being back out here with all the temptation, but I know you can do it. I'm really proud of you, Greg."

Greg nodded, swallowing deeply. He took a deep breath and said, "Well, I guess this is it. Best to do it like ripping off a band-aid."

He got out of the car and headed towards the building.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Ryan lay alone in bed, staring at the feeling. He had pulled doubles for the past four days, solving the homicide of a little girl, but with the case now wrapped, Horatio had basically commanded him to take the day off. Ryan hated days off. He never had anything to do. He would try to read or watch a movie, but he would get restless halfway through. It had always been an ironic twist with him and Greg. Greg, who had ceaseless and boundless energy, would be captivated by movies, unable to tear himself away until the end credits rolled, while Ryan, always the calm, controlled one, would start fidgeting ten minutes in.

To tell the truth, though, days off hadn't been so bad when Greg was here. Greg would keep Ryan's attention in movies by regaling him with useless (and, as Ryan suspected, most likely untrue) facts and stories about the actors and actresses or the filming or even the musical score. And Greg had always understood the merits of pausing the movie halfway through for a nice, long walk around the neighborhood.

And, again, if Ryan was being honest, he hated days off because they reminded how empty his life was without Greg in it. As if Ryan needed another reminder of how much he missed having Greg around.

The doorbell interrupted Ryan's train of thoughts, and he stood, wondering vaguely who could be at his door now. He padded over to the front door and opened it without looking first to see who it was.

When he did see who it was, his heart stopped. There was Greg, standing at his front door, looking nervous as hell but still grinning madly. "Hi," said Greg, his smile faltering slightly at Ryan's expression.

"Hi," responded Ryan, raising an eyebrow. "What are you—" he started, but then Greg cut him off by striding forward and capturing Ryan's mouth with his own.

The two kissed passionately for several minutes, then Greg released him. Ryan felt woozy and dazed, but in the best way that he had ever felt woozy and dazed. "Well, it's nice to see you too," he said, his brain too numb to think up anything valuable to say.

Greg reached out and grabbed Ryan's hand. "Look, Ryan, I am so, so sorry. More sorry than you will ever know," he began, running his other hand through his hair. "I told you once that I would never hurt you, and I know I did, in more ways than I will ever being to understand. But I love you. That's one thing that I've learned. I let all kinds of things get in the way of that love, but it's always been there, the one thing always shining bright and true in my life. And it's taken me a very long time to realize it, and I understand how angry you probably still are, but I want to let you know that I am here. And I'm not—" He paused for effect. "I am **not** going anywhere, no matter what."

Again, Ryan's mind was too stunned to think of anything to say, so he mumbled, "That was a very long run-on sentence." Then his mouth shut up and his brain took over. Ryan eased his hand away from Greg's, though he looked the older man in the eyes, deep into those chocolate brown eyes that he had missed so much. "Why don't you come in?" he said finally, feeling his heart already beginning to melt a little. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

_FIN_

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_A/N:__ The end...for now, anyway. There is a sequel that's been planned and in the works for awhile, but I'm only going to work on it if there's enough interest out there. It will most likely focus on Ryan and Greg's newly peaceful life in Miami, and what new surprises and angst lie in store for them. No more break-ups, though. They're done with that. So, if you want the continuation to this story, make some noise and let me know!_

_If there just isn't the interest, however, you'll note that I left the ending open enough for interpretation. Greg and Ryan have a lot of work to do in order to make their relationship work, and I want to explore that further, but if I don't get the chance, I hope you readers will be able to in your heads. Speaking of readers, thanks to all my readers and reviewers, especially those of you who have been loyal to this particular plot bunny since _Why Can't I?_ Thanks to everyone who has read this and made it possible!_


End file.
